Runway
by Deception's Call
Summary: Where Sherlock is scouted for a modeling agency, and the whole of Scotland Yard plus John decide to go and watch his first fashion show.


**Hello all! I'd just like to start off by thanking those who reviewed on my other fic 'Domino' because it really means a lot and your feedback is just simply exquisite. :D**

**Well…this has been in my head for a while, but it's only now that I've braved actually writing it up. **

_Summary: __Where Sherlock is scouted for a modeling agency, and the whole of Scotland Yard plus John decide to go and watch his first fashion show. _

**Because those cheekbones are just model material. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

_Runway_

It was certainly no secret that Sherlock Holmes was an attractive man.

To those he passed on the street, he was a strong presence that demanded attention. He appeared feisty, dark, mysterious and high class. His form-fitting suits and expensive coat did much more than claim the attention of those he met.

He wasn't the conventional beauty – he wasn't ripped or muscular, nor did he have tanned skin or a particularly dazzling smile. What he did have however, was something entirely different and something entirely better.

He was lean and angular, which made him seem taller than he actually was, he had pale skin that would rival that of snow, and he had perfectly shaped Cupid bow lips. But his strongest and most prominent feature, the one that most people noticed at first glance and would forever associate with him, was his cheekbones.

High and strongly formed, it gave an air of authority and assumed wealth.

Cheekbones were _not _meant to cast shadows.

His other feature, the one that came second to his facial structure, was his eyes. Blue and piercing like iridescent jewels, they held a gaze of scrutiny every time they landed on a passerby. Always moving, always deducing. Sherlock told stories using his eyes.

His mop of dark hair, however? Well, it was safe to say that most people wondered whether or not it was naturally like that.

Sherlock Holmes was the polar opposite of what was considered beautiful. If one relayed the description of his traits and features to an oblivious mind, one would scoff and wonder why on earth he was considered attractive. That is, until one saw him.

On Sherlock Holmes, the look _worked. _

So it was about high time that he finally got discovered.

* * *

They had just finished a case involving a particularly gruesome string of murders, and after a chase around the city _yet again,_ John was finally feeling the effects of hunger take its toll.

The case had lasted a week, and knowing Sherlock, he had probably put off eating until he promptly felt like he was going to pass out. Yes, John did see him eat a piece of toast during this case because for god's sake Sherlock isn't above human needs (no matter how much he wants to be). Sherlock also had a tendency to forget that others needed sustenance and could not go as long as him without food, either.

So that's where they found themselves now, strolling on the street on the way to Angelo's because that was about the only place closest to Baker Street that didn't involve them having to pay.

John glanced at Sherlock beside him, noticing that the detective was still giddy and excited from solving the case and eager to get another puzzling one. John dreaded the day when Sherlock would grow bored once again.

As he glanced up towards the London skyline, he noticed the silhouettes of the buildings now glowing with the bowing down of the sun and the lights of the streetlamps. The dusk created shadows that further accentuated Sherlock's dark look.

As they were swept inside the comfort and familiarity of Angelo's, they sat by their usual seat in the window and gave their orders.

"Finally eating then?"

Sherlock seemed to get snapped out of his thoughts and now turned to face John. "Hm?"

John nodded towards their incoming food. "You're finally eating."

"Oh, yes I am. Case is over anyway."

John sighed as their plates were placed in front of them and Sherlock thanked the waiter. "I'm just saying that not eating during cases, especially long ones, aren't good for you."

Sherlock scoffed as he picked up his fork, "Really John, we always have this conversation."

"That's because it's not healthy."

"That's because my body is merely transport."

"Excuse me?" an unfamiliar voice interrupted.

John saw Sherlock's gaze drift towards the woman and began to see the machinery in his brain and the words in his eyes start forming her life's story.

"Yes?" John replied.

The woman looked fancy, an expensive black pantsuit adorning her slim body, and her auburn hair was pinned up in a loose bun behind her head. Her brown eyes were dark and looked tired. John noticed she was holding a briefcase – so someone who works in a demanding – _oh god I'm turning into him. _

"Sorry to interrupt," she said bashfully, "but I couldn't help but notice you two coming in and, oh god this is going to sound weird, but I couldn't help but notice that you have the perfect look for a client of mine," her eyes locked onto Sherlock's.

The consulting detective furrowed his eyebrows. "I – "

"Oh it's just…"the woman interrupted once again, "I run a modeling agency and one of my clients has this upcoming fashion show, and you have the exact look that she's aiming for."

John felt his eyes widen slightly at the words 'modeling' and a look towards Sherlock suggested that he felt the same. The detective's lips were slightly parted and his eyes were narrowed, ready to start a string of words that would most likely stun the woman to silence.

"Just contact me if you're interested," the woman placed the card on the table and shrugged on her coat, "I do hope that you consider it. The show's next week, so it would be most convenient if you contact us with your answer as soon as possible."

She nodded towards both men in a farewell gesture and strutted out of the restaurant, her heels still echoing off the walls even after her exit. When John turned around to face his best friend, he saw him with his hands steeped under his chin and the business card sitting beside his plate of untouched food.

John sighed and picked up the card, "Alice Riverton," he murmured quietly.

He smirked and began to chuckle, "So what are you planning to do?"

Sherlock shrugged and picked up his fork, "I was actually going to ask you for advice."

"Well, you know how it works – there's an interesting case and then there's nothing that you consider worth your time for two weeks after it's solved. This might just quench your boredom."

John watched as Sherlock stabbed a piece of ravioli, "You make a fair point, but being a _model," _he hissed out the word, "has never been my area."

"A lot of things aren't your area, Sherlock. Who knows? You might even have some fun. C'mon, it's not every day you get the opportunity to be in a fashion show, it could open up a lot of opportunities."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I'm sure."

"People in these type of industries tend to hide a lot of secrets, who knows what you might stumble upon?" John urged, hiding his smile behind a forkful of spaghetti.

Sherlock froze and John watched the contemplation play out in his eyes.

"I suppose I could give it a shot."

* * *

The look on Lestrade's face was picture worthy.

"He's _what?_"

John nodded gleefully, "He's going to be in a fashion show for this lady, it's tomorrow."

"Back up, rewind. He's going to be in _what?_"

John suppressed the widening smile on his face as he listened to Lestrade's gobsmacked voice from the other side of the phone.

"He's going to be in a fashion show."

"You're joking."

John shook his head, "'Fraid not. I'm watching the fitting right now."

"Watching the _what?_"

"For a Detective Inspector you sure need a lot of clarification and repetition. Fitting!"

He could practically hear the DI's jaw drop open in amazement and shock. There was a slight scuffle of what seemed to be like papers in the background. "What's going on?"

When Lestrade answered, his voice was out of breath, high pitched and full of excitement. "I'm filing my leave! I need to go watch it!"

John smirked, "Oh I'm sure Sherlock would love that."

"I'm also bringing the rest of my division with me."

John didn't even have to try and hide the laugh that bellowed through him, "Fantastic."

As John glanced towards Sherlock, now in a full three piece designer suit including a tie standing in front of the camera for test shots, he really did begin to wonder why Sherlock didn't pursue this as a career.

Before Lestrade hung up, the last thing John heard was an enthusiastic _"Field trip!" _coming from the Detective Inspector.

One thing was for certain though, Sherlock was a natural.

* * *

As the room darkened with the lack of lights, John reminisced his night's previous encounter where Sherlock pushed him to stay up all night to animatedly talk about some of the secrets he managed to coax out of his newly threatened colleagues.

Many a man, John heard tales of tragedies, displaced inheritances, and one even had a murderer in their ancestry, and Sherlock was adamant to find out who this murderer exactly was for further research.

John did, however, notice the narrowed-eyed glances thrown over to the consulting detective during the fitting the previous day. The cat-like glares of his colleagues seemed to certainly not take an immediate liking to the detective, and for once it was not because of his deductions, but rather, because of his natural talent.

Sherlock always knew how to act.

Of _course _he'd be a natural in front of the camera. Life was just a play and the people were the actors. London was nothing but a stage.

As a cacophony of music and a chorus of lights began to shine in the now darkened room, John saw Lestrade and company finally enter. To most, seats would certainly only be reserved for fashion enthusiasts, but John managed to pull some strings because he was at the fitting yesterday.

"Lestrade," he greeted warmly.

"John," the DI nodded back before sitting down. "How was the fitting yesterday?"

"Splendid. And quite surprising as well. Some of Sherlock's colleagues seemed a little bit jealous of him."

"Jealous?" he heard a female voice pipe up. "Why would they be jealous of the freak?"

Ah. Sally.

John huffed, "You'd be surprised. He's a natural."

"Sherlock? A natural? You're pulling our legs," Anderson sneered.

John merely shook his head, "Nope. I'm not. Believe what you may, but you might find yourselves a little surprised."

He leaned towards Lestrade and whispered, "There was also a photoshoot, but they kicked me out of the room for that."

"A photo –"

"Sh!" John placed a hand over the DI's mouth, "I'm quite excited to see how it turned out, myself."

"I think we all are," Lestrade murmured.

The lights began to dim once again, and the show was finally beginning.

* * *

John faintly recalled that the theme was 'Unearthly Beauty.' It was certainly something that fit Sherlock's looks, anyway, and he supposes that's why the consulting detective was approached in the first place.

As he watched man after man filter out onto the runway with their photoshoot pictures on display behind them, John did notice a certain unearthly air to each person. Male and female, there was something strange about their features that worked on them, and none would certainly be conceived as a typical type of beauty. And yet, despite their little quirks and traits, they only had _one, _and if one person simply did not bother to look then those features could so easily be overlooked. The rest of their features, however, did hold a sort of typical beauty that one usually searched for.

That's why Sherlock was different. His features could definitely _not _be overlooked.

John has never been a fashion enthusiast, preferring comfort over style and practicality over fashion, but even he had to admit that the suits displayed by the models were quite nice – and moreover, they weren't ridiculous.

Then _he _came out.

Unlike the rest, who smirked and winked and held a slight smile tugging at the corner of their lips, Sherlock remained stone-faced and passive, not exactly with a frown but not with a smile either. His blue eyes were even more piercing than usual, highlighting and swirling with green and gold orbs that contributed to his overall mysterious appeal. His cheekbones, enhanced by the light shining on the runway, seemed even more sharp and prominent, and his hair was ruffled, curls more loose with strayed tendrils, not at all like the usual tamed hair he had.

He was wearing a different three piece suit than yesterday, this one was more sharply cut to fit his angular body type which further heightened the consulting detective's stature.

His photoshoot pictures however, well, John thinks he heard even Sally Donovan gasp at their beauty.

Set in a modern looking luxurious house, the pictures screamed of wealth. Sherlock Holmes fit right in with the setting.

As he watched Sherlock walk down the runway (not in a strut, mind you, but rather in his usual long strides), it was obvious that the detective was the one that captured the audience's attention. John could already see the spectators in the front row scribbling down his best friend's name.

"Blimey, I didn't imagine that," he heard Lestrade croak out.

"What the hell, the freak looks _good._"

"_What?_" Anderson squeaked.

As John snapped a picture, he knew that he would be sending it to all their friends as a postcard.

Hell, might even get it framed, too.

Just to mock him.

* * *

"Think he'd actually pursue this as a career?" Lestrade asked John as they waited for their friend to come out.

"I don't know, I only recommended it so he wouldn't get bored waiting for a case."

The DI shrugged, "Good thing too, haven't had a case that would interest him since he solved the last one."

John gnawed at his lip as he thought, "He could though, already seemed like a hit."

Lestrade chuckled, "Well it seems like he gave them a bit of a shock," he jutting his thumb towards the officers at Scotland Yard, murmuring and trading pictures of the detective walking down the runway. John _knew _that he didn't imagine that jealousy emanating from the males in the group.

Snapshots of bright white light started flashing from cameras as each of the models and designers finally got clearance to exit the building. In the middle of the crowd, John saw a bobbing head of dark curly hair being mobbed by photographers.

"Better go save him," John mused to himself.

He stuck a hand in the crowd and Sherlock somehow managed to find it before grasping onto it and being pulled out.

"Well that was tedious," Sherlock hissed. His hair was still styled in that ruffled from the show, but he was now wearing his signature coat with his dark blue scarf wound around his neck.

"Exciting?" John asked.

"Not after I figured out everyone's secrets. All so mundane. Turns out the murderer in that one man's ancestry was merely an accomplice, not an actual murderer."

"What a shame," John deadpanned.

"Quite," Sherlock hummed.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called out.

As Sherlock looked up, his eyes widened and lips pursed. "John, what is he doing here?"

John shrugged. "I told them about it."

"You…you _what?_"

"Oi, freak!"

Sherlock groaned. "Oh god they're all here aren't they?"

John nodded, "Yep."

"I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

John shook his head with a growing smile, "Nope."

"Sherlock! Nice show, by the way, I'm thinking of posting the pictures up on the walls of the Yard."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "There are –"

"Anyway I just got a text, triple murder, all look like suicides and all done at the same time in different locations. Interested?"

The Cheshire grin spread across Sherlock's face, "Oh yes. Come on John!"

John put a finger up, "Hold on a minute. And…send!" he pressed a button on his phone.

Sherlock rose a brow, "What did you just do?"

"I broadcasted the photos of you to everyone we know. Including Mycroft."

"John!" Sherlock chided harshly with his narrowed feline eyes as he hailed down a cab to follow the police cars, "Delete it immediately."

"Can't," John replied as he got into the cab.

"Did I mention I'm going to get it framed as well?"

* * *

**I am more of an angst writer than a comedy writer. Humor is not my forte and I think that shows, so I'm sorry to disappoint if this is a horribly atrocious piece of work. I just love the concept and I haven't seen it around anywhere yet (or maybe I just haven't seen one yet. I see but don't observe).**

**Still, I think it was an alright attempt for my first humor fic. I think I'm going to stick with angst from now on though. I sort of imagine Sherlock's runway hair from Benedict's appearance on Top Gear :)**

**However, I would absolutely love to hear your feedback on it!**

**Review? Because your reviews and feedback mean the world to me. :)**


End file.
